


Where He Came From

by elim_garak



Category: Homeland
Genre: FrangipaniFlower, Gnomecat, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 13:02:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12582516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elim_garak/pseuds/elim_garak
Summary: A story about one brave plush rabbit, who went a long way to find his home. He was always loved.For Gnomecat, who had a great idea for all of us to write a ficlet with the Halloween theme. For FrangipaniFlower, who had faith in me managing anything other than The Choices. For everyone else in this wonderful community.Love you all. Happy Halloween.So, yeah, Berlin. Sometime before season 5.





	Where He Came From

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gnomecat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gnomecat/gifts), [FrangipaniFlower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrangipaniFlower/gifts), [InchByInch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InchByInch/gifts).



Jonas lets go of Franny’s hand and zips his coat. The day started with some sunshine, but it is late October, and he knows how deceptive the yellow glow can be this time of year. He told Carrie to have her umbrella with her, when he kissed her goodbye this morning. She never remembered those things. He smiles, thinking about her. And then he looks down. Franny is serious. She works her ice-cream with a dedication of a true Mathison. It’s not like he didn’t try talking her out of having an ice-cream in this cold. But then again, he knew it was hopeless long before the argument started. If she gets a cold, Carrie will be furious. He can never be strong with Franny. And Franny knows how to exploit every little bit of love he has for her in his heart.

It’s Saturday. That same Saturday they’ve been waiting for all week. Hell, all _month_. Carrie is determined to have this ridiculous Halloween party tonight. And Franny couldn’t wait to wear her costume. So, there they are, strolling down the alley in James-Simon Park, a tall handsome slightly redheaded young man with kind green eyes, holding a hand of a three feet tall air force fighter pilot, full jumpsuit, wings and all, licking her ice-cream and looking very content. Franny had her own taste in costumes. He brought a beautiful butterfly outfit, which he preordered online months ago. She said Top Gun. So, it was Top Gun all the way.

Jonas sighs deeply. He can see the Ampelmann restaurant from here. It was where they had their first official date. That is, after some vaguely unofficial dates they had in the bathroom of the During Foundation offices. He was going to take her there tonight. He puts his hand into his pocket and he touches the little box inside it. It’s about to get real. After almost two years. And he simply can’t wait. But it won’t happen today. Because Carrie is working late. Again. And all their plans are down the toilet. Again. One day he will give up planning surprises for her. And live the life the way she does – one crazy minute at a time. But he is not here yet. He is still hopeful.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he hears a voice, speaking English. His thoughts stop. And he does, too. He takes a step back, after having stumbled into someone, and he says _it’s ok_ , in English as well.

He thinks it’s a tourist. He has an American accent. But, when he looks up, something stops that thought. He is not dressed as a tourist. A man, standing just two feet away from him, is wearing all black: black jeans, black shirt, unbuttoned at the top (in this cold), black leather jacket, black gloves, black heavy boots. Even the backpack he has on his shoulder is black. The spikes of his dark hair add to the picture, too. The only color he can see are his eyes. They are such bright and intense blue, Jonas finds himself looking into them a little longer than he should have. He feels uneasy and smiles apologetically, stepping to the side and taking Franny with him, intending to continue their stroll around the stranger. Because, for some reason, the man doesn’t move to the side to let them pass. He just stands there.

Those blue eyes are on Franny now. And they change. The cold detached expression is instantly replaced with something glowing, almost smiling. The smile is nowhere to be seen yet. But it’s coming. He looks at Jonas again, “I’m sorry, it’s just… I am an American. And I couldn’t help but notice… is this a Halloween costume?”

They both nod: Jonas – a little suspiciously, Franny – hard and enthusiastically.

“Happy Halloween,” Jonas says, pulling on Franny’s hand, fully intending to keep walking.

Franny stands her ground; her crystal blue eyes are a mixture of curiosity and wonder. She eyes her khaki jumpsuit and raises her eyes to the man’s face, “Mom says it’s not very girly.”

 _Does she?_ The man crouches down next to her, his face is in front of hers now, “I think it’s incredibly cool.”

The smile on her face lights the park and even the clouds in the sky seem less grey for a moment, “You do?”

“Yep,” he motions his eyes to her ice-cream. It’s melting. Franny manages to control the damage with a professionalism of a real three-year-old, including the drops on the back of her hand.

“Jonas says it’s too cold for ice-cream,” she says then, defiantly looking at the man holding her hand.

“Then how come it’s melting?” the man in front of her winks. She laughs. It’s a happy laugh, it rings, and jingles and it has a sweet little hiccup sound at the end. _Do that again_ , he thinks, his heart aches the moment she stops. “So, are you guys going trick-or-treating?”

Franny winces, her little porcelain face is all disappointment, “It’s _Germany_ ,” she blurts, emphasizing the last word, “Almost no one’s trico… tricksto… treats -or…” her tongue is broken, trying to repeat the phrase. She never could.

The man smiles, the faint dimples on his cheeks become pronounced, “Trick-or-treating,” he spells for her, slowly, nodding for her to repeat. “You can do it.”

“Trick… or… treating,” she manages, saying it as slowly as he did. And her smile is a reflection of his, she is beaming. “Well, no one _we_ know is into it… And mom says I shouldn’t be going to stranger’s houses. Or talking to strangers.”

“Right,” the man says. And at the same time Jonas says it too. Both see the irony in _that_ situation.

Franny tilts her head to the side; her auburn curls bounce off her cheeks. She thinks about it for a short while. She gets it too. But it doesn’t stop her. There is a solution to that problem. She extends her slim arm forward, “I’m Franny.”

The man smiles and takes her hand into his. It’s freezing cold. He frowns, looking at her costume. She has layers of clothes underneath, but it’s not enough. He fights an urge to take off his jacket and cover her with it. He holds her hand a little longer than he should, his palm feels so large around it, and it’s very warm.

“I’m John,” he says, smiling. And he wonders why it doesn’t feel weird, having one truth creating a lie to cover for another.

Jonas feels uncomfortable, but he can’t help a smile himself. They should probably go. But, knowing Franny, it’s a lost cause. She is fascinated. And this stranger with an open face and smiling blue eyes seems rather harmless. Also, he feels bad, because there is a sadness about him. He is a long way from home. Probably missing his family. So, he stays, watching them.

“Well,” the man looks around, “Germany or not… I am an American. Wanna give it a shot?”

Franny is beaming even harder, if it’s at all possible, “Trick… or treat?” she asks, with a smile of anticipation.

The man reaches for his bag, “Well, I don’t have any candy,” he mutters. _Or money. Haven’t gotten payed for my latest kill._ He almost literally reaches into his own brain and shovels the last thought out of it.

He puts the bag on the ground between them and opens it just a little. She cannot see what’s inside it. Neither can Jonas. He reaches his hand in and finds what he is looking for. He takes out an off-white plush rabbit. It still has a tag attached to it. He had it with him for the last two years. Waiting. He got him for her at the flea market in Damascus. He barely cost him anything. But he was worth everything. This little fluffy thing has been with him through every single minute of every single day since he first laid eyes on him. He slept in the darkest holes, he climbed the tallest walls, he watched him set up his rifle preparing for a strike, he watched him disassemble it, he listened to him every night before he went to sleep, he listened to the stories about a beautiful baby girl, who will take him home one day, when this was all over, and, above all that, he was the only plush rabbit in the history of special ops to ever undergo an extraction from Syria.

The man turns toy’s little head towards himself and makes a serious face, “It’s time for us to go our different ways, my friend,” he says, a smile crawling into the corners of his eyes, spreading over his whole face, as he looks at Franny. “You’ll have to name him. I never did.”

“Sir, this is really…” Jonas stops, looking for the right word. _Inappropriate_ , he thinks. And _weird_.

The man looks up, meeting his eyes, his face is disarmingly honest, “I know… and I’m sorry. But… please, allow me,” he says, simply. “It would make me very happy. I haven’t been home in almost two and a half years. Had this little guy for my… daughter. I am not sure how long it’ll be before I see her again.”

Jonas sighs. He fights the uneasy feeling this whole thing gives him, but he shrugs and nods.

Franny doesn’t have a free hand. She is almost done with her ice-cream, what’s left is the waffle cone and some on top, “Do you like ice-cream?” she asks.

“Franny!” Jonas protests.

But the man takes the cone from her hand, “What kind is it?”

“Chestnut,” she smiles. “My favorite.”

“Mine, too,” he chuckles. He hands her the fluffy rabbit and, as she presses it to her chest, smiling even wider, he slips something into her palm. It feels metallic and cold. He covers her hand with his for a moment longer. “Happy Halloween, Franny,” he gets up, zips his bag and throws the strap over his shoulder. He nods at Jonas. “You too, sir. Have a great evening.”

“Happy Halloween… John,” Franny mutters, holding the plush bunny, he is almost half her tiny size. Her fist is clasped around her second gift. She knows she is not supposed to show it.

He walks away. His steps are light and quiet. They can still see him, but it feels like he was never there. Jonas pulls on Franny’s hand and they start in the opposite direction. She waits for him to avert his eyes and she opens her palm. There is a pin on it. It’s dark and metallic. She recognizes it from Top Gun, a movie her mother said she shouldn’t watch. But she did. Six times. Those are the pilot wings. She slips the pin into her pocket and she turns her head to look at John. He is not too far yet. And, as she looks at him, he turns around as well. He smiles and gives her a small military salute. Then he bites into the waffle cone of her ice-cream and walks away for good.


End file.
